


Mistaken

by BeautifulFiction_FMA



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Language, M/M, alcohol use., implied sexual scenes, more language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-04
Updated: 2009-12-04
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4151064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction_FMA/pseuds/BeautifulFiction_FMA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after the night before, but was the passion Roy and Ed shared really just a drunken mistake?<br/><i>Initially published in 2009</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistaken

Ed opened his eyes slowly, letting out a breath of pain as a thudding ache ricocheted through his head. His mouth tasted vile, like stale beer, and his stomach was gurgling a sullen, half-hungry half-hungover warning. The slow trickle of his thoughts was clouded, and he turned over to nestle deeper in the pillow and escape the weak dawn sunlight that crept through a chink in the curtains.

Something stirred next to him, and Ed almost swallowed his tongue as he jerked away and stared in disbelief. Belatedly, pertinent facts distilled themselves through the haze of his confusion . His mattress was not this wide, his room did not smell of spices and clean wood smoke, and he did not normally wake up to find Roy Mustang lying in a sleeping sprawl at his side.

A sleeping, _naked_ sprawl.

Oh, shit. What had he done?

Ed shifted, realising that the happy thrum deep in his muscles had nothing to do with too much alcohol and everything to do with sex. This was not the first time he'd felt loose-limbed and a little sore, but at least before he could remember what the hell had happened. His skin was salted with sweat, among other things, and he knew his hair was a tangled wreck around his shoulders, but even as he stared down at Mustang he could not believe what the evidence was telling him.

He'd had sex with Roy.

'Fuckin' idiot,' he hissed to himself, clutching his head and screwing his eyes up tight as he tried to think what to do. Roy was still asleep, still open and vulnerable in a way Ed had never seen before, but that would not last forever. Sooner or later, Mustang was going to wake up, and Ed was not about to fool himself into believing that Roy would be happy to see him.

He had to get out of here. Why it happened, how it happened, that could all wait until later; right now Ed knew he could not still be here when Roy came to. There were a lot of things he could face, but Mustang's inevitable horror and disgust was not one of them.

It was difficult to bully his stiff, queasy body into anything resembling grace, but Ed managed to slip silently out from under the sheets. The rug on the floor muffled his footsteps, and he looked back over his shoulder at the man who still lay in the bed, blissfully ignorant to his presence. The sheet was slung very low around Roy's hips, not doing much to hide anything from Ed's view, and he swallowed tightly as he realised that, briefly, all of that had been his.

Sometimes it seemed like he'd been fantasising about sex with Mustang for years, and it was a particularly cruel twist of fate that, now he'd actually done it, he could not remember a thing. Ed knew that Roy's hands must have touched his body, but he could not recall the weight or heat of Roy's palms. His lips felt swollen with overuse, but there was no record of the kisses he knew they must have shared. He did not even remember walking through Roy's front door... .

Ed shook his head, flinging away the circling chatter of his thoughts as he began to hunt for his clothes. He barely dared to breathe but, every time he bent over to retrieve another garment, the pain lanced through his head anew. Cotton whispered and leather creaked as he tugged his pants up over his hips. A shower would have to wait. Just because he'd shared Mustang's bed did not mean he had any right to anything in this house. Not water, not food, not even the man himself. He was an intruder here, no matter what had happened last night.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye made him look up, but it was just his reflection in the mirror. He looked like someone who'd had a good time and suffered for it. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were pale. Tight lines bracketed his mouth and bent his brow as he saw a dark shadow on the curve of his shoulder. Clothes would hide it, but that did not change the fact that Mustang had left his mark.

Stifling a growl, Ed tried to ignore the flare of heat in the pit of his stomach. He shouldn't enjoy the idea of Roy claiming him; he wasn't property! Scooping up his vest and jacket, he shrugged his way into them, concealing the bite from view before yanking the tangle of his hair back into a messy ponytail and grabbing his boots.

The floor sighed beneath his weight, but the soft, familiar noises did nothing to stir Roy's sleep, and Ed carefully picked his way across the room towards the door. He reached out for the handle, silently praying that it would not creak as he pulled it open. Thankfully, the hinges remained quiet, and he hesitated on the threshold before looking back.

Weak sunlight was slowly strengthening, giving the sheets and pillows an ethereal glow. Roy's hair was like ink spilt on a page, all black, tousled spikes, and the smooth colour of his skin was only interrupted by four darker bruises on his hip.

The blush slammed into Ed's face as a fragment of memory fluttered across his mind like a butterfly: him on his back and Roy over him, thrusting deeper as Ed's tightening grip urged him on.

'Fuck,' he whispered, closing his eyes. It did not seem real. Even as he stood here, hovering on the brink of escape and half-panicked with disbelief, the world was like a dream. Any minute now, he'd wake up back in his own bed, hungover, miserable and alone.

Yet the room did not fade, and the sound of Roy's breathing never faltered. Outside the window, birds were singing, and the first noises of the day were beginning to make themselves heard. Part of Ed wished he had the courage to crawl back into bed and curl up at Roy's side, to wake up normally and pretend that this was something he could have, but he'd just be fooling himself. This wasn't the start of something, and if he did not get a move on and just _go_ then it could be the end of the tentative friendship that he and Mustang had managed to achieve.

Quickly, before he could think twice, Ed stepped out into the hall, pulling the door shut after him and padding down the stairs. He only stopped to toe his way into his boots before easing open the front door and stepping out into the early morning chill. It clicked shut behind him with a dull finality, and Ed let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

He wanted to bury his head in his hands and slump to the ground, but Ed forced himself to walk down the steps to the street. It was easy enough to put one foot in front of the other but, no matter how many scuffing strides he took, he knew he wasn't going to be able to distance himself from what had happened.

The truth might be hidden behind a fog of alcohol, but of all the questions that circled Ed's mind, one was screaming itself loud and clear through the throbbing cavern of his head. When Roy woke up, would he remember what had happened, or would his memory fail him, just as Ed's had?

With a sick, sinking feeling, Ed realised he would have to wait and see. He'd find out soon enough.

* * *

Roy wrinkled his nose, frowning as the late morning sunshine stabbed through his eyelids. Oh, he felt – not good. His brain was throbbing out a Morse code of distress on the inside of his skull, and his stomach felt like it was full of rocks. He had drunk too much, although the precise number and manner of what he had swallowed was rather evasive. Thank God it was a Sunday. No work. He could just roll over, curl up and –

Wait. Why did he feel so sticky?

Snapping his eyes open, Roy stared at the other half of the bed. It was empty, but that did not wipe out the evidence of sex that lingered on his body, nor the musk of passion that still lingered in the air, faint, but discernible. All that was missing was another person; Roy definitely hadn't got this messy by himself.

He tried desperately to remember something: a name, for god's sake even a face, but his mind drew a blank. He could tell from the state of the sheets that his lover had been male, but other than that?

Biting his lip, Roy searched through his mind, stepping back hour by hour until his memory was clear once more. He could remember being at the bar with the others from work. It had been a hellish week, and they had been dragged into the office on Saturday as well. He had been determined to draw a firm, alcoholic line between his duties and a well-earned day of rest and, at some point, the clarity of the evening faded into patches.

He vaguely remembered Hughes cutting him off at some ungodly hour and nudging him out of the door. Yet Maes hadn't brought him back here. Roy could just about remember his friend's strict instructions to go home, and then –?

Obviously, he hadn't listened to Hughes' advice. He'd gone somewhere, found someone... The rest of the story was written all over his body, charted in the almost pleasant ache of his muscles and echoed in the sick swarm of guilt that buzzed in his guts. Whoever it had been, he would not know them if he passed them in the street, and that thought sat like a hot lead weight in his mind, as dense and uncomfortable as the hazy hole in his memory.

Of course, just because they weren't still in bed did not mean they weren't in the house somewhere. Cautiously, he sat up, listening to the comfortable sounds of his home. The beat in his head stuttered and his stony stomach clenched at the movement, but he managed to push it aside enough to realise that there was no trickle of running water or clatter of plates in the kitchen. If anyone was still here, then they were being incredibly quiet.

He glanced down at the dented pillow next to him. Someone had slept there, and that was unusual enough to make Roy pause. Even when drunk, he rarely brought anyone home with him. He preferred to go to their place, so he could leave at his convenience rather than wait for the other person to realise they had outstayed their welcome. On the rare occasions he did invite someone into his home, he did not encourage them to stay the night. Had he been too drunk to usher them out of his door before falling asleep, or had he honestly welcomed them at his side?

No, if he trusted someone that much he would remember them, booze or not. Their presence here once the dawn had broken was the result of a lapse in judgement on his part – nothing more.

Something twinged in his mind, a faint niggle of doubt at his own assessment, but Roy ignored it as he inched his way out of bed. As soon as his feet touched the floor, he knew that today would not be productive. His head felt like the bitter victim of some crazed percussionist, and his mind felt somewhat disconnected from reality, as if he stood at arm's length from the world and observed himself from his own shoulder. It was almost enough to make him swear off alcohol for life – almost. Still, at least he wasn't kneeling on the bathroom floor with his head in the toilet, yet.

Shrugging on a robe, Roy padded out into the corridor and headed for the bathroom, all the while looking for any little clues as to who his bed-mate had been. People normally left some trace of their presence, but he could not see anything. It was almost as if they had picked up their clothes and fled.

He winced as the thought stung his pride; it was not a flattering conclusion. Of course, he had done just that to some partners in the past. Shameful as it was, escape was sometimes better than the alternative, but he had never been on the receiving end of such an act.

Stepping into the bathroom, Roy let his robe sough to the tiled floor as he reached out for the shower taps, hesitating as his sluggish mind noticed other details. No water droplets clung to the side of the bath, and all the towels were dry. Whoever it had been hadn't bathed before they left; had they really been in that much of a hurry?

Pressing his lips into a hard line, Roy flicked on the spray before easing himself under the warm cascade. Hot water drummed over his body, and he bent his head back beneath the torrent, relishing its touch. Inch by inch, he soaped himself clean before stepping out and reaching for a towel. Just before he wrapped it around his hips, he noticed a dark mark against his skin. The angle was too awkward to see properly, and he wiped steam from the mirror so he could get a better look.

Four fingerprints rested around the back of his hip and one thumbprint crested the jut of the bone. Someone had gripped him hard enough to leave a mark and, despite himself, Roy smirked at the thought. At least he could be relatively sure that he'd given his mystery lover a good time – so why did they leave without so much as a “thank you”?

A whispering voice in the back of Roy's head suggested that they shouldn't be the only ones expressing gratitude. Despite the aches and pains, Roy was very aware that he hadn't felt this sated in a long time. Normally he felt a temporary, fleeting buzz after sex that was forgotten by the time breakfast was over. This time, though, there was a subtle sensation of fulfilment. He felt like he done something right.

God, that was ridiculous. If they were really so great, then he would remember them and all he had was fog and –

The memory broke like sunlight through storm clouds: A lithe body pressed between him and the wall, arching into his touch and letting out a low, rough, _familiar_ sound as his hand skimmed down between strong thighs. He remembered hardness grinding into his palm as a hot, wet flash of tongue stroked against his own, and the scent of shampoo, sweat and need filling his nose like drug smoke.

It wasn't much, but the memory was strong enough to echo over his skin and ignite a spark of desire in the pit of Roy's stomach. His throat had gone dry, his chest felt too tight and his entire body hummed at the recollection but, try as he might, he could not bring anything else to mind.

Damn it! He had to work this out! Somewhere out there was someone who had woken up at Roy's side and then melted away into the sunrise without so much as a word. Perhaps he would never cross their path again but something, some thrilling, flutter of instinct told him otherwise.

This wasn't over. It had only just begun.

* * *

Ed sat at the kitchen table, ignoring the nauseous squeeze of his stomach as he clutched his head in his hands. He'd been fine until he'd tried to eat something and then – it had been bad. It was mid-afternoon. How much longer was he going to sit here wishing he were dead because not only had he drunk far too much last night, but he'd also woken up in someone else's bed – _Roy's_ bed – naked and aching.

He swallowed, working his jaw as he concentrated on not having to rush to the bathroom for the third time that day. Sleep should have made it better, but every time he laid down the world tilted at strange angles and the incessant litany of _Whatifheknowsitwasyou_? became too deafening to bear. So he sat here, almost praying something would just strike him down now so he would not have to deal with all of this.

The first thing he'd done when he crept in the door this morning was shower. He'd reeked of sex, and Al's senses were painfully sharp now he was no longer a suit of armour. Yet washing away the evidence did not change reality, and Alphonse was as suspicious as hell anyway. He knew Ed far too well, and he could see beyond Ed's obviously miserable hangover to the darker dread beneath.

He hadn't asked any questions. At least, not yet, but Ed knew it would not be long. He always rushed into an interrogation, but Al let his victims fall into a sense of false security before springing the trap.

'Where were you last night, Brother?'

Ed dragged his eyes up from their scrutiny of the table to gaze blearily at Al's innocent concern. There was a time when he would have had to rely on twin points of light to act as a window to Al's soul, but not anymore. He could see every nuance of Al's emotions. Worry tightened Al's eyes and pressed his lips into a flat line, vaguely disapproving of Ed's obviously self-inflicted distress.

'Out,' Ed replied vaguely, wincing as Al raised a doubtful eyebrow. 'Just out.'

'You didn't come home until morning. I heard you sneak in! That's not how you normally behave, Brother.' Al lowered his voice, lips pursed as he added, 'I was worried about you.'

Fuck, Al always did know what to say to make Ed feel about two inches tall. 'I can take care of myself,' he said softly, trying not to clutch at his aching head. He was pretty sure that his brother noticed the flinch of pain, though, because when Al spoke again his voice was almost harsh.

'When we left the bar you said you'd be home in an hour. If I'd known you were just going to find somewhere else to drink I wouldn't have let you go!'

Al's words were a catalyst to the fizzing murk of Ed's memories. He remembered the bar at least – a non-military place where he would not have to worry about explaining to anyone why both he and Al, still too young to drink, were getting served. There were others there that they knew, either from Al's class or just around the city. It had been fun, and Ed honestly hadn't noticed how much he'd been drinking until the world had started to blur at the edges and no longer kept up when he turned his head.

He'd told Al he was getting some air, which had been true at the time. Bars were stifling, brimming with laughter and smoke, and Ed had thought that a quick walk through the city would be enough to set him to rights. He'd have been better off going home.

'Did you – did you get together with someone?' Al asked, his voice trembling a little with typical embarrassment at the question. 'Is that why you were late coming home? You were sleeping in someone else's bed?'

Oh, God, he did not want to talk about this with his little brother. 'Al –'

'Why won't you tell me?' It was a plaintive demand, loud and desperate, and Ed jerked back in surprise. 'Do you think I haven't figured out that you've grown up? What can you possibly be doing that you think you've got to hide from me?'

Ed groaned, feeling his headache intensify. 'Nothing, Al, nothing. Just leave it alone, okay? I feel shitty enough as it is. I'm sorry I was late coming home. Isn't that enough?'

Al frowned, pushing himself away from the kitchen counter and turning to face the sink. He did not say a word as he filled the kettle, banging it down on the burner far louder than Ed would have liked before setting it to boil. He was rummaging around in cupboards, slamming doors and rustling packaging, and Ed stifled a moan as he rested his head on the hard wood of the table. The last thing he needed today was Al in a mood with him, but what the hell was he meant to say? “Sorry I'm late, I was busy getting fucked by Roy Mustang”?

The kettle began to shriek, and Ed could have wept in relief when Al took it off the heat and shoved some hot water in a mug along with a bag of some kind of herb.

'What's that?' Ed asked suspiciously, wrinkling his nose at the pungent smell.

'Ginger tea. Winry left it here last time she came down.' Al took a deep breath, his lips tilting in a crooked smile of apology as he quietly set the cup in front of Ed. 'You look awful, Brother. Just sip it; it'll stop you feeling so sick.'

Reluctantly, Ed did as he was told. The tea wasn't too bad. His stomach did not reject it instantly, and he closed his eyes as the steam curled past his cheeks. If he could just concentrate on this and forget everything else, then maybe all his problems would solve themselves. It wasn't likely; it had never happened before, but he could always hope.

The graunch of a chair over the tiled floor echoed through his skull, and he blinked his eyes open to watch Al sit down next to him. Al was picking at his sleeve, and a prickle of warning rushed down Ed's spine. He knew the difference between nervousness and dread, especially on Al's face, and Ed braced himself for whatever question was about to be voiced.

'Is it because you don't like girls? Is that why you won't tell me – you think I'll disapprove?' Al's hands clenched into fists, and he shook his head as Ed stared at him. 'All I want is for you to be happy! Why can't you see that?'

Of course, Al would decide to have this particular talk when Ed was too hungover to think of any excuses or denials. He wanted to say something reassuring yet dismissive, but what came out was, 'How do you know I don't like girls?' His hand tightened around the mug of tea as Al blinked at what was almost as good as an admission.

'I notice things, Brother.' Al shrugged like that explained everything. 'I've watched you, and you never give girls a second glance, not even the really pretty ones, but –' Now he shifted, and a blush darkened his cheeks. '– but it's different with men. I mean, you're not obvious about it or anything...' Al trailed off, his breath leaving him in a little huff of laughter. 'I'm right, aren't I?'

Ed could not lie to him, because those placid eyes always saw right through all his bullshit, but he could not find his voice either. In the end, he nodded, ignoring the clattering pain in his head as Al leaned forward, propping his elbow on the table and his head in his hand.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he asked, sounding honestly baffled.

Lifting his mug to his mouth, Ed took another sip of the tea, pulling a face before he muttered, 'I thought you might hate me or think I was weird or something.'

'You mean more weird?' Al teased, shaking his head. 'I could never hate you, Brother. You should know by now that, no matter what, I'm always on your side. Nothing's going to change that, least of all something like this.'

Ed smiled despite himself. He hadn't realised how much he had worried about Al's reaction to his sexuality before now, but it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was easier to breathe, somehow, and one of the lingering spectres of guilty shame had dissipated from his mind. Al approved, and that made it easier to believe his own convictions. He wasn't ill or wrong or twisted up beyond repair; he was just different, and if he had Al to act as his shield, then he could take the sneers and whispers of anyone else who dared to question his choices.

'So, were you with someone last night? Was it anyone I know?'

A low, miserable groan escaped Ed's lips. 'Al, please drop it. It was a mistake, all right, and I'd really rather forget it ever happened.'

But Al saw everything, and Ed did not know what expression his face was wearing as his little brother cocked his head and raised a doubtful eyebrow.

'Really, Brother?'

Gritting his teeth, Ed swallowed the last of the tea and thought of Mustang wrapped in glossy white sheets, naked and perfect and _his_. Roy must be awake by now. Did he remember who he'd shared his bed with, or was he oblivious to what had passed between them? If he knew, could he really look on what they'd done with anything like Ed's own guilty appreciation?

No. If Roy remembered it at all, he would be horrified. There was no point in fooling himself otherwise.

'Really.'

* * *

The office was peaceful at this time on a Monday morning, and Roy breathed a sigh of relief to find the place empty. It was unusual enough for him to be at work so early and, if anyone had been around to witness his presence, he knew there would be questions he simply did not want to answer.

He had spent all of yesterday racking his aching brain for some faint whisper of a clue as to who had shared his bed, but the few memories that had returned to him were sensory and, frankly, explicit: a groan in his ear, the warmth of skin on his own, the tight, wet heat as he pushed his way inside... .

Roy swallowed, trying to ignore his body's automatic response to the recollections. Even now, the phantom scent of his lover seemed to linger in his nose, and he could practically taste the needy flicker and flash of their tongue against his own, but none of that was useful to him. All he had to go on was a creeping certainty that his lover had been someone he knew.

With a sigh, he pushed open the door to his personal office, belatedly realising it should have been locked. He was just giving the wooden panel a baffled frown when a voice said, 'Survived the weekend, then?'

Hughes grinned from where he sat in Roy's chair, feet propped on the desk and a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. Roy hadn't even noticed the scent of it; he obviously wasn't at his most alert at this time of day. Walking across the room, he slapped at Maes' boots, making an irritated noise as he saw the muddy prints on the antique woodwork. 'Can't you lounge around in your own office?' he demanded, but his scowl softened as Hughes nudged a second mug towards him.

'More interesting in here. You do realise it's not even eight yet, don't you?' Hughes nodded towards the clock on the mantelpiece. 'I don't think I can actually remember the last time you were at work this early. Why so keen?'

Roy took a sip of his coffee and sauntered over to the sofa. Its cushions sighed beneath him, and he sparked the fire into life with a lazy click of his fingers. 'Maybe I just felt like being productive.'

'That's not very likely,' Hughes murmured. 'I was half-expecting you to call in sick after Saturday night. Everyone had a lot to drink, but you seemed to be going for some kind of record.' He treated Roy to a faintly disapproving look over the top of his glasses, which Roy chose to ignore, before he added, 'I would have walked you home, but I didn't want you to throw up on my shoes.'

Roy rolled his eyes in disbelief. 'That happened once, more than ten years ago. Are you ever going to let it go?'

'They were decent shoes,' Hughes retorted, but Roy saw the grin flicker across his best friend's lips. 'Besides, you got home all right, didn't you?'

It was an innocent enough question, and Roy leaned his head back, giving his ceiling a tired, half-hearted glare. He could lie and say he went straight back to his house, gloss over what had happened and try to forget about it, but he knew Maes.

Whether it was out of protectiveness or just bare-faced curiosity he would check up on Roy's story, find the discrepancies and then pick at them until he found out the truth. Roy might as well spare them both the time and confess. Perhaps Hughes would be able to find out something about the mystery lover anyway, after his standard disappointed sigh at the admittance of debauchery, of course.

'Roy?'

'When you went home it was just the two of us, right? No one else was there?' Roy asked, his voice indifferent as he stared at the fire.

Behind him, the chair creak as Hughes got to his feet and strode over to stand by the hearth. 'There was you, me, and an empty street, Roy.' Maes sighed, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes before settling them back on his nose. 'So, where did you go after I left? I'm guessing the answer isn't “home”.'

It was impossible not to wince in embarrassment. He was meant to be of an age where he knew his limit when it came to alcohol, and Roy hated not being privy to all the details of his life, but he could not deny the facts, not to Maes. 'The details are a bit hazy. I don't really remember much. I woke up at home, in my bed, alone –'

'Well, that's a relief.'

'– but someone had been there with me.'

'Sleeping?' Maes' voice was full of doubtful hope, and he sighed when Roy shot him a meaningful look. 'No, of course not. Why am I not surprised?' He scratched at his stubble, lips twisted in a grimace. 'You don't know who it was?'

'No, there was no one in the house when I woke up. I looked for clues, something they'd left behind, but there was nothing: a dent in the pillow and dirty sheets, that's all.' Roy leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and staring into his coffee cup. 'I'm not sure what's annoying me more, that I have no idea who it was, or that they left while I was still asleep.'

Hughes gave a small huff of sympathetic laughter. 'Not so nice when it's someone else creeping out on you, is it? Don't take this the wrong way, Roy, but are you really sure you had sex? Normally, I wouldn't doubt it, but you had a lot to drink. I'm surprised you could get everything to, you know, _work_.'

'Positive,' he replied, remembering the gritty feel of sweat and cum on his skin that morning. 'Trust me, Maes, that's about the only thing I do know for certain.' He scrubbed a hand through his hair and squinted at the burgeoning morning light. 'All I keep getting is flashes of memory, nothing definitive, and it's been driving me crazy. I came to work just to get away from it.'

'Seems like it followed you to me,' Maes pointed out, setting down his empty mug on the table. 'Do you at least know if you used protection?'

The words slipped over Roy's skin like ice-water, making him shiver in brief shock. He had been so obsessed with trying to think of who he had shared that night with that he hadn't even considered potential long-term consequences of their anonymous liaison. His horror must have been written all over his face, because Hughes threw his hands up in the air with a groan.

'Great, so somewhere there's some poor girl who you can't even remember and, for all you know, she's pregnant with your child.'

'No,' Roy said adamantly, putting his mug down on the table with a “thunk” and slicing his hands through the air. 'No, that's not possible.'

'How can you be sure, Roy?' Hughes demanded, folding his arms and glaring at Roy over the top of his glasses. 'You can't count on the other person to play it safe while you have your fun!'

'Because it wasn't a girl,' he snapped, angry at himself for the panic that edged into his voice. Maes had known about his sexuality for years, and Roy knew that news would come as more of a relief than a concern. The last thing either of them wanted was for him to end up trapped in a mistake of a marriage because he felt he had to offer legitimacy to a kid he'd never meant to conceive. 'I wouldn't – I wouldn't have been that stupid if there was a chance of pregnancy, Maes, drunk out of my head or not.'

'You're sure of that?' Hughes asked. 'I mean, if you can't remember, then how do you know whether it was a man or a woman?'

'There are ways to tell. I'm sure you don't want me to go into detail,' Roy replied flatly. 'I'm positive it was another man in my bed. I'd bet my life on it.'

The silence was defined by the tick of the clock on the mantle and the steady crackle of the fire as golden flames lapped across the wood in the grate. For a moment, he and Hughes stared at each other before Maes finally nodded. 'If you say so. You should probably get checked out by a doctor, though. Make sure you've not caught anything from whoever it was.'

He frowned down at the rug in front of the fire before meeting Roy's eyes again, his expression edged with pity. 'I'd offer to help, Roy, but it's not like you've got much to go on. Besides, there's a good chance that whoever it was doesn't want you to chase them down. Maybe you should respect that?'

Roy got to his feet, pinching the bridge of his nose as his stomach twisted itself into uncomfortable knots. 'I can't do that. Maybe if I had nothing to go on then I could let it slide, but I can't shake the feeling that I know him. It wasn't some stranger I picked up in bar. It was... .' He gave a helpless shrug, unable to put it into words.

'A friend?' Hughes asked, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows as he appeared to consider that new piece of information. 'Perhaps it was an ex?'

That thought did not sit well with Roy, and he shook his head, rejecting the idea. 'I don't think so. I can't even explain why, I just –' He made a rough sound of annoyance, closing his eyes and shaking his head. 'Never mind. It's my problem. I'll either work out who it was or get over it.'

Maes grinned, scooping up their empty mugs before casting one last look over his shoulder. 'I've never known you to “get over” a problem you can't solve. I don't know if it'll be any help, Roy, but alcohol tends to strip away your inhibitions; it doesn't create feelings out of nothing. If you knew the person you were sleeping with last night, then you were probably already attracted to them. The booze just took away your barriers.'

He shrugged, heading for the door. 'Is there anyone who you might start something with in different circumstances? Because I'd bet a week's pay they'll be the one who was in your bed on Saturday night.'

Roy watched his friend hook the door shut behind him, leaving Roy alone with his thoughts. The dense calm of the office pressed down on him like blanket, but he barely paid it any attention as he considered Hughes' words. There was only one person in his life that matched that particular description, and Roy's breath caught in his throat as he wondered if it could possibly be true.

Could it have been Fullmetal who had lain beneath him that night? Had Ed followed him through the oldest dance known to man and then, as soon as morning came, vanished, ghost-like into the dawn?

He tried to picture it: the bright splash of gold hair on his pillow and the heavy weight of automail around his back, but his memory failed him. Even the husky words that murmured through his memory weren't something he could fully believe had come from Ed's lips. He had never seen Ed that passionate, had never heard him speak in a voice brought low by need, and even while his heart clenched in a vicious fist of hope and uncertainty, Roy still could not be sure it wasn't all a vain figment of his imagination.

A glance at the clock told him that the working day was about to begin. Ed was supposed to report in this afternoon. Perhaps Roy could not trust his mind to recall who had been with him that night, but he could always put faith in his abilities.

If they had shared something on Saturday night, then Roy suspected it would be written all over Ed's face. All he had to do was read the story there, and then perhaps he could find the answers to the questions that had churned through his mind since he had awoken yesterday morning.

* * *

He wasn't hiding, Ed told himself. To the casual observer, it might look like that, but that's because most casual observers were stupid and did not know what hard work looked like when they saw it. That's what he was doing – working, _not_ hiding.

Ed walked his fingers along the spines of the books, his lips moving silently as he searched amidst the stacks. Mustang had wanted his report about some old arrays they had found in the sewers, and Ed knew he had seen them before. He could remember the book's title, author, all of that shit, but because the librarians were pathetic at looking after their books, no one could find the damn thing.

Glancing at the clock, Ed winced. He was already two hours and fifty-seven minutes late. It was getting dark outside, thanks to the cold, winter nights, and surely the office would be winding up towards the end of the day now? He could find this damn book and see Mustang about it first thing tomorrow.

The surge of relief that went through him was quickly followed by a twisted kind of shame. When had he turned into such a coward? Truth was he could hand in the report without the book, he was just grasping at straws so he would not have to go into that office. Ed had never thought of ignorance as any kind of bliss before, but now he was beginning to grasp the concept.

If he went in there and Mustang remembered what had happened over the weekend, then all that Ed had been so desperate to avoid when he fled Roy's bed would still be there waiting for him: disgust and horror and the inevitable “It was a mistake” discussion that he would rather die than have to hear.

The best case scenario was that Roy did not know or care who his partner had been, and everything would carry on as normal. He would be the same smug, superior git he had always been and Ed could get on with his life.

Except it would never be that easy. Maybe his memories were like shattered bits of glass, disjointed and sharp, but there was still enough there for Ed to know what he was missing. Perhaps he could not remember everything about what had happened that night, but he knew that it made him feel as if all the bad stuff he'd been through and seen wasn't as much of a weight as it had been.

Roy had made him feel peaceful and strong, like all the broken puzzle pieces of the world had slotted into place. Roy had made Ed comfortable with himself for the first time in years, and now part of him yearned for that again so hard that it almost hurt.

'This sucks,' Ed whispered to himself, flicking a book's spine in irritation, 'but at least now I don't have to see the fucker until tomorrow.'

'Fullmetal!'

Ed froze, closing his eyes and mouthing a curse as Mustang's voice carried through the stacks. He could hear the steady approach of one set of footsteps and, for a brief moment he considered running away. He could dart around the corner, stay one step ahead and swear blind he'd never been there at all.

No, some things in life were worth running from, but not Mustang. Even at his most intimidating, all Roy ever did was make Ed's blood boil. Besides, there were too many witnesses who knew he was here. He'd been getting in the librarians' faces about the missing book since noon. They'd be only too happy to hand him over to his commanding officer on a platter.

Anxiety and excitement twisted in the pit of Ed's stomach, and he took a steadying breath, trying to appear engrossed in his search. All he had to do was act normal. If Roy caught even a hint of something different then he would be on it like a hound on the scent, and Ed wasn't about to give himself away that easily.

If Mustang had something to say about the previous night, then fine, he'd suck it up and deal with it, but if Roy was still clueless then it was up to Ed not to give him the hints he needed to put two and two together.

'What, Mustang?' he growled, seeing the man turn into the aisle out of the corner of his eye. Only Roy could make the most standard entrance seem dramatic. Even if he only had an audience of one, he still seemed to unconsciously plan every movement to artlessly impress. He was wearing his long coat as a shield against the cold weather outside, and it flared like furling wings as Roy came to a halt at Ed's side with a sigh of irritation.

'Wind your watch. You were meant to hand in your report hours ago. For such a genius you seem to find the concept of military hierarchy hard to grasp.'

'You'll get your fucking report tomorrow, when I've found the book that backs it up,' Ed muttered. 'If you want to blow hot air at people, go and bother the librarians; it's their fault for losing it.' He waved a gloved hand in the general direction of the main library desk and made the mistake of looking up.

Instantly, he met Roy's dark eyes, and it was as if his lungs vanished and his heart went into overdrive. If he did not know better, he would have sworn Roy had snapped his fingers and set the library on fire, because heat flooded along his skin, silk soft but strong all the same. It took everything Ed had to keep his jaw set in its normal stubborn lines and not look away in some kind of inviting submission.

Mustang was leaning against one of the bookshelves. His entire pose was casual and at ease, but his face told a different story. He was looking at Ed as if he was an unsolvable puzzle, eyes narrowed and his brow drawn into a confused frown. He did not look as annoyed as he did baffled, like he had been sure of a conclusion and now could not understand why the evidence wasn't backing him up.

'What?' Ed demanded, trying to ignore the fact that his voice sounded more strangled than angry. 'I said I'd get the report to you, so –'

'What book is it?' Roy interrupted, jerking his head towards the shelves.

Suspicion darkened Ed's mind, and he frowned as he tried to see where Roy was going with this. 'Maxwell's _Hypotheses on Elemental Alchemy_. Why?' As soon as the question slipped past his lips, he realised the answer, and his fingers clenched into fists.

'I have a copy back at my house.' Mustang's lips twitched in a wry smile. 'In the interest of getting that report out of you before another week goes by, I suppose I can let you borrow it,' Roy said, turning away and looking back over his shoulder. 'Are you coming, Fullmetal?'

Ed gritted his teeth, hating himself for his own stupidity. Roy was a fire alchemist; of course he would have a copy of the damn book. With one simple answer Ed had blown his only chance of getting out of Mustang's presence any time soon. Worse, he could not think of a single valid excuse to avoid going back to Roy's house.

Shit.

* * *

They walked through the city in near silence. Normally, Roy would have at least tried to engage Ed in conversation, but right now his head was too full of confusion to allow room for such niceties. If he opened his mouth, then he was far too likely to blurt “Was it you I slept with in a drunken haze?” and there was no world in which that would end well.

When Hughes had delivered his parting pearl of wisdom, Roy had been so sure that he had found the answer to his puzzle, but now he had some serious doubts. If Ed had woken up next to him and then fled into the dawning day, then he would be skittish, nervous, maybe even a little guilty. Instead he was the same rude, belligerent, breath-taking young man as always.

Roy glanced over at him, seeing again everything that had made Ed the most likely candidate to be his mystery lover. There was nothing about him that could be labelled as ordinary or mundane. From the unusual golden hues of his hair to the diamond-sharp brain beneath, he was exceptional.

Ed was stronger than anyone Roy knew, not physically, although he was by no means weak, but emotionally. The name Fullmetal was more apt than any of them could have imagined. Ed's determination was steel solid all the way down. He could never be compromised, and it was that as much as anything else that had made Roy start seeing him in a different light.

At first, he had put his attraction to one side, thinking with a wistful edge that if things had been different, if the military and circumstances hadn't got in their way, then they might have had a chance. Yet over the past six months, he had found himself captivated by Ed more and more. Whether he was arguing loudly or calm and steady, nose stuck in a book, Ed could catch Roy's eye.

Roy had started thinking that a relationship with Ed wasn't as unattainable as he first thought. Perhaps once his contract was done – maybe once Ed was free of the constraints of the army and was just Ed, rather than the Fullmetal Alchemist – perhaps then they could see what their relationship could become.

Then he had noticed that sometimes the heat in Ed's eyes was different from his normal anger, and it had been another weakness in the chains of his restraint. There was still almost a year left before Ed's contract was over, and patience had always been a virtue that Roy struggled to master.

If he had stumbled into Ed on Saturday night and received even a hint that his attentions would be welcome, then Roy had no doubt that he would have taken Ed into his bed. Instinct was screaming loud and clear that the young man next to him was the one, but cautious logic kept whispering in his ear. There wasn't enough proof; there was too much contradicting evidence. He needed more than his gut feeling to go on and, so far, Ed was holding out on him.

Perhaps Ed was better at hiding his feelings than Roy had thought. In the neutral territory of the library, it should be easier for Ed to shield his true reactions. Roy hadn't lied when he said he had the book Ed was looking for, but he could also see that this was an opportunity in disguise. If Ed really was a stranger in his home, he would act accordingly. If not, then Roy would have at least one of the answers he had been looking for.

'This way,' he instructed, gesturing down his street and noticing Ed's reluctant stride. It could just be his standard petulance in the face of authority, Roy reminded himself. He had to be careful not to read too much into every little nuance of behaviour, or all he would end up with was false hope.

Groping in his pocket, he dragged out his keys and unlocked the door before pushing his way into the sanctuary of his home. Was it his imagination, or did Ed hesitate briefly on the threshold, like he was about to enter a chimera's lair rather than an ordinary house?

Roy hung up his coat, pretending not to notice that Ed had already taken three steps towards the study door before he said, 'The book's through there on one of the shelves to the right of the fireplace. I'll get you some coffee, and you can give me a verbal report about those arrays before you go.'

Ed looked anything but thrilled at that prospect, and Roy's stomach swooped uncomfortably as the younger man grimaced before giving a small nod of agreement and nudging his way into the study.

To be honest, Roy did not care about the arrays. What mattered to him was that Ed stayed here for a little longer. Every extra moment was a chance for Roy to glean more knowledge, and that was essential if he was going to balance the see-saw of his shrilling instincts with the doubt of his logic.

Even as one part of him thrilled with triumph at the knowledge that Ed must have been here on Saturday night, another warned him that Ed knowing where the study was did not mean anything. The layout of the house was fairly generic; it could have been a lucky guess.

With a sigh, Roy wandered through to his kitchen, putting the kettle on the burner and going through the process of getting coffee together. No milk for Ed and enough sugar to make the water almost an afterthought, while Roy's was precisely the opposite, strong, unsweetened and with a trace of milk to add a creamy edge to the bitter taste.

It was only coffee, but it served to underscore the uncertainty that had lingered at the core of him all day. He and Ed were so different in many respects. If it turned out that it had been Ed, then Roy had to figure out exactly what he planned to do about it. What had started off as a way of gathering the answers and soothing his bruised pride had suddenly become a minefield of choices.

Where exactly would this relentless pursuit end? If it turned out his instincts were right, what was the next step?

Like the insipid creep of smoke under a closed door, Roy remembered how he had felt when he awoke that morning: sated and centred in a nebulous way, like everything that had been subtly wrong with his life had been wiped clean. If Ed made Roy feel like that after one drunken encounter, what would it be like to go knowingly into his arms and wake up at his side every morning?

With an irritated sound, Roy finished making the coffee and picked up the two mugs. He was getting way ahead of himself. He had no guarantees that Ed had been his lover, and even if he had, all the reasons they could not be together would not magically disappear.

Perhaps it would be best to just walk away from whatever had happened. Whoever his lover had been, Ed or not, they had obviously felt no inclination to stick around, and if Ed was the culprit then it was clear that he would rather they carry on as if nothing had happened.

That thought left a heavy, hollow ache in Roy's heart, but the sight that awaited him in his study was enough to bring a glimmer of a smirk to his lips. Some things were universal constants, and that included the world's strange urge to remind Ed that he was, even after all these years, still short.

He was stretched up on tip-toe, straining upwards to reach the book he wanted which, by a random twist of fate, was on one of the highest shelves. His fingers could just brush the wood, but he could not quite reach that last inch to grab the book itself. Ed was muttering something about the freakishly-tall, and Roy placed the coffee mugs silently on the desk before reaching up over Ed's head and tugging the book down.

Ed spun around in surprise, chest to chest and pinned in place by Roy's proximity. The heat of his body seeped through Roy's clothes and into his skin, stroking down to his nerves with invisible fingers and lighting flash-fires there. Roy's mouth was desert dry, and he blinked down at Ed in shock as the memory crashed into his brain like a runaway train.

They'd been like this before, except that it hadn't been shelves and books behind them, but a frost-ferned wall. He could recall the bright white splay of his gloves on the bricks as he leaned into Ed's personal space and the steel-strong curl of an automail hand in his shirt as Ed pressed into him.

More than anything, Roy recognised the leather and shampoo scent of him. It had edged every breath he took that night and lingered on his sheets in the morning, long after Ed had gone.

Wordlessly, Roy perched the book on a lower shelf, watching Ed's expression as he gently cupped Ed's chin, more to stop him from looking away than anything else. He expected Ed to snap at him and jerk himself free, but Ed stood as if captivated, his pulse throbbing in the hollow of his throat.

When Roy finally found his voice, he was shocked at how defenceless and hurt he sounded, but he asked the question with all the courage he could find, painfully aware that he may not like the answer.

'Why did you leave?'

* * *

Ed stared up into Roy's face, unable to look away as his heart raced beneath his ribs. The question hung between them and, while Ed had half-expected the words, he had never thought Roy would say them in that voice, as if Ed's behaviour had been cause for regret rather than relief.

It was tempting to deny it, to say he did not know what Roy was talking about and just get out of here, but Roy's expression told Ed he would not be believed. The tension between them was enough to give his lies away, and he knew there was no denying the buzz and crackle of desire in the air.

'I knew you'd think it was a mistake,' Ed muttered, trying to sound indifferent as his stomach twisted itself in knots. His body wanted to arch up and press into Roy's solid weight, and it took all of Ed's concentration to ignore the urge. He remembered this, not in images but in sensation. .

Back then, Ed had been lost in the heady buzz of alcohol and lust. Now there was nothing in Ed's veins but the bite of his own need and the surge of his blood sending heat to every part of him. He wanted Roy to tell him he was wrong – that it hadn't been a mistake. He'd even believe it, or at least pretend he did, if it meant he could have just one more taste of Roy's skin.

Yet Roy remained silent, and Ed's heart sank as he said, 'I was just saving you the trouble of kicking me out.' He turned his head, pulling himself free of Roy's grasp and ducking under his arm. He had every intention of walking out, of damning the book and stupid fucking perfect Mustang and just getting away from here, but Roy's voice made him pause as he reached out for the handle to the study door.

'I missed you when I woke up.'

Something inside Ed broke beneath the strain. He did not know or care what kind of sick game Roy was playing. Did he think this was fun? Did he think Ed enjoyed marinating in a horrible cocktail of want and despair? Ed's body was crying out for the man on the other side of the room and, of everyone in the world, he was the one person Ed did not think he could have.

'You didn't have a fucking clue it was me, Mustang!' he cried, not caring that it was more pain than anger in his voice. 'You didn't remember any of it, just like me. I nearly had a fucking heart attack when I woke up next to _you_! You can't miss what you don't know was there.'

'Yes, you can,' Roy replied, and Ed narrowed his eyes at the forceful certainty there. 'I might not have known it was you, Ed, but I knew someone had been with me and I knew how –' He paused, as if gathering the strength to carry on. 'I knew how good he made me feel, not necessarily the sex itself, but afterwards.'

Roy dropped his hand to his side, stopping a few steps in front of Ed. For once, he did not look smug or self-satisfied, but as confused and uncertain as Ed felt. 'Can we at least talk about this rather than pretending it never happened?'

Ed folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the closed door and looking up at Roy from behind his hair. 'What's there to talk about?' he demanded. 'We got drunk and had sex. End of story.'

'It doesn't have to be,' Roy murmured.

It was impossible for Ed to suppress his body's jerk of surprise. His breath caught in his throat for the second time in a dozen minutes, and he stared stupidly at Roy as he tried to understand.

Mustang looked almost as surprised by his own statement as Ed, but he squared his shoulders and met Ed's gaze as he began to speak. 'I'm not saying that I planned to sleep with you, or that the alcohol did not affect my decision, but this wasn't some baseless one-night stand, at least, not for me.'

He swallowed tightly. Mustang normally did not leave himself so unmasked if he had a choice in the matter, and Ed did not know whether to feel honoured or unnerved by his honesty. If he was concerned about Ed's reaction to his words, he ignored it, ploughing on rather than leaving anything unsaid.

'You've grown into an attractive young man, Ed, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed. I thought, perhaps, that there was something mutual between us, but –' Roy wet his lips, glancing sideways at the twilight beyond the window before turning back. 'If you can look me in the eye and tell me that Saturday night meant nothing to you, that you only have regrets, then you can walk out the door and we'll never speak of it again.'

Ed's head felt full to bursting point, overflowing with everything that Roy had confessed. Ed had been so sure that he knew how Roy would react to his presence in his bed, and now it turned out that he had everything wrong from the start. Roy _wanted_ him, and Ed's entire being felt alive with the knowledge.

It was too good to be true, and Ed clenched his teeth as the brief surge of elation ebbed and dimmed. 'So what if it did mean something?' he asked. 'It doesn't change anything, does it? Just because I want you doesn't mean you're not still my superior officer. Roy, you want to be Fuhrer. How much luck do you think you'll have with that if people knew you were screwing around with me?'

In three quick strides, Roy had closed the distance, and Ed's mind went blank as Roy's bare fingertips cupped his jaw, holding him in place as warm lips pressed against his, hot and confident. Before Ed knew it, Roy's jacket was gripped in his fist, anchored in place as his tongue swept tentatively across Roy's mouth, teasing his way inside.

How could this be so easy and words be so hard? Like this, with his palm splayed over the thudthudthud of Roy's heart and every nerve burning up with the lightning thrill of desire, everything made the most perfect kind of sense. None of the rest of it mattered; there was just heat and want and the flick of Roy's tongue against his own, driving him slowly insane.

Ed made a rough noise when Roy pulled back. Blue eyes were dark enough to almost be black, and he could feel the flutter of Roy's uneven breaths across his lips. Gentle fingers still rested softly against his jaw while the other hand cupped Ed's waist, stroking gently through his clothes.

'Before I knew what I was missing, it was easy to be concerned about what other people would think,' Roy began in a sexy hush that sent arrows of heat down between Ed's legs, 'but now... .' He shook his head, nudging at Ed's nose with the tip of his own. 'I don't care if it makes it harder for me to become Fuhrer. I don't want what we could have to end before it's even had a chance to begin.'

Ed swallowed, trying to stifle the words that lined up on his tongue. Everything he wanted was being offered to him on a platter, and he could not believe he was throwing up hurdles, but he could not let Roy walk into this without thinking it through. 'You'll care if you end up being court-martialled for fucking about with a subordinate.'  
  
'It would never just be “fucking about”,' Roy pointed out, moving his thumb shakily over Ed's cheek as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch him. When he spoke again it was in a slow, thoughtful voice, as if he were working through things in his head at the same time. 'Officers all over the army carry on relationships with their subordinates, and once your contract's over it will no longer be an issue. Until then, we both know how important discretion can be.'

Ed drew in a shaky breath, pressing against the curve of Roy's palm as he whispered, 'One night and you want to risk everything you've worked for?'

Roy smiled, a calm curve of joy on his lips rather than arrogance, because he could see that Ed was looking for an excuse to say yes. 'More than a year of looking at you and wishing I could touch you,' he replied, brushing the lightest possible kiss to Ed's lips, 'and I want to see if there could be more. Don't you?'

Without a word, Ed pressed himself upwards, nipping tenderly at Roy's mouth. Words were useless, but he felt Roy's hand tighten on his hip as he answered in kind. The spicy scent of Roy's cologne seemed to fill Ed's head, banishing every concern that had swarmed through him over the past few days. All his nervous shame burned away beneath Roy's touch, and Ed moaned in soft encouragement as Roy's fingers moved to tunnel into his hair, cradling his head and deepening the kiss.

Last time they had done this, Ed's mind had been clouded, disconnected and lost in a happy fog. Now it was sharp and aware in euphoria, barely daring to believe what was happening. He had been so certain that the night he could not remember would never repeat itself, and now Roy stood in front of him, offering him not just one more time, but the chance at forever if he wanted it.

As if Ed could ever say no to that.

* * *

Warm sunlight spilled through the open curtains, filling the room with its golden glow. Beyond the window, another sleepy Sunday morning was getting under way. Birds were singing in the stark, stripped trees, their notes rising up into the frost blue sky. There was a beautiful world out there, and Roy could not spare it so much as a second glance.

His fingers stroked lightly over Ed's hair, tucking a strand behind his ear before skimming softly down Ed's cheek and the line of his jaw. His arm was falling asleep where it was trapped under Ed's shoulders, and Ed's leg was a dead-weight across his hip, yet Roy barely felt the discomfort. He was too busy watching his lover sleep, peaceful and stunning at his side.

It had been a big risk starting this relationship with Ed more than a year ago, but Roy could honestly say that he had no regrets. He had known it would never be easy; they were both volatile in their own way and painfully independent, but somehow their lives blended together. Of course they argued, but it was worth it, and not only for the incredible make-up sex. In Ed, Roy had found something he'd never realised he had been looking for: someone to share his life with, whatever it held.

Gently, Roy tucked Ed closer to him, feeling his heart swell as it did every morning when he awoke to find Ed sprawled at his side. He was always reminded of that first time when he had opened his eyes and, even if he could not remember his lover's face, he had known he was missing something. Now he never had to suffer that strange, hollow loss again.

Back then, Ed had called it a mistake and Roy had to admit that he had not planned for any of this. Yet as he looked down at Ed's peaceful face, he could not deny the truth, not even for a moment.

'Best mistake I ever made.'

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> B xxx  
> [My Tumblr](http://the-pen-pot.tumblr.com)  
> [My Sherlock Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction/works?fandom_id=133185)  
> [My Hobbit Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kingmaker/works?fandom_id=873394)  
> [My Fullmetal Alchemist Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction_FMA/works)


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